Knife Point Pen
Still was the ink, and I stared into the black liquid to create
Looking in it I saw a thousand memories, a few smiles, yet a huge volume of sorrow
Dipping the sharp steel end of my pen into it, I felt a few tears reach my lip, salty bitter taste
Dreams fell, and hope lost itself in my infinite memory, all lost in tomorrow
As I piece my soul back together I see the unknown come to life
I run again, I run to hide from all my trouble, yet I run face to face into strife
Will the ink dry to fast, as to impede me from delivering my message
I write, I weep unto an empty piece of papyrus and I see not a message
Men seem to desire, yet have nothing to with aquire
The music flows in the open air, and still is the moral thougth by the chorus
I seeketh a true pen, a true companion to my inner poet, a pen to admire
Soft, gently running onto my papyrus
Kissing each word onto my papyrus, and speaking by my hand
Alone I find a wish once wished by my heart long ago and I write
Will it be true, my wish come to me as I have come to you ever so right
I ran, an empty piece of paper followed, no message to be found, falling then I to the sand
I wrote with my finger, yet the wind swept soft the sand again no message there
Am I to be blocked unto this reality where one can not write, its not fair
See in my eyes, a powerful poem demands to be read
The ink dried, my message froze still, my pen was dead
Copyright © Edward Orozco | Year Posted 2009
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